


a warm winter

by colourvision



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, ambiguous ending, cold war au, fluff I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8783686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourvision/pseuds/colourvision
Summary: Yuuri will wait, no matter how long it takes.





	

“You’re going to defect?” said Yuuri. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Yuuri had the vague idea that something like this should have been reserved for newspaper articles, for the evening news broadcaster. An event that grew more detailed and more unbelievable after every gossip exchange. It was a part of history, something that he would be distant from - something that shouldn’t affect him.

They sat on a bench together in the middle of the city, mercifully private. Yuuri felt as if he was hidden from the rest of the world, and he hated it. Parks shouldn’t be so silent. Especially not right after the Golden Spin of Zagreb. Yuuri wasn’t sure what he was expecting from a park during the winter, but he felt as though there should have been a crowd around them.

“Oh,” said Victor. “When you say it like that, it sounds so dramatic. Plenty have defected before me.”

Victor looked maddeningly casual, thought Yuuri. Biting the street food - burek - that he had bought moments earlier, Victor smiled, and leaned back into the bench. Any stranger would have thought he was especially pleased with his food, as if that was all there was to it.

“But - you’re - you’re _you_ ,” said Yuuri. “And they’re strict about that, aren’t they? Are you sure you’ll be _safe_?”

“Are you already worrying about me?” asked Victor. “How charming! But I’ll be fine. Half of the ballerinas in London are Soviet defectors, and in any case, I have lots of friends here.”

“Are you sure you should be telling me this?” 

“I trust you,” said Victor. Looking at his eyes, Yuuri felt that he could have kept any secret, could have done anything Victor asked of him.

“The KGB won’t be knocking down my doors, will they?” 

“You watch too many spy movies,” said Victor. 

“But,” said Yuuri, “why are you telling me this?”

It made no sense. Yuuri had placed Victor on a pedestal, had looked up to him for as long as he could remember - the rooms on his walls were covered with posters of Victor, after all. He could remember the first time he had seen Victor skate on the TV, on a grainy channel where he could barely see his face. “The rising Soviet star,” the announcer had said. His routine had kept Yuuri enthralled, and he had been known to come home at inconvenient moments if he had heard Victor would be skating on TV. He wouldn’t miss anything if he could help it.

And here was Victor, telling him that he would be defecting. Telling him! 

“I’ve decided to be your coach. After the dust settles, I mean.”

“My coach,” said Yuuri. “Why?”

“You ask so many questions,” said Victor. The amusement had not left his face; his eyes were glowing. “Let’s take a photo.” He had finished his food, and had wiped his hands. Fishing through his jacket pockets, Victor took out a pouch.

There was a camera in it, and it was unlike any camera Yuuri had ever seen. _Made in the USSR_ , it said in English, on the lenses. There were small scratches on the sides, barely visible to Yuuri in the evening light. Victor was looking at it with something like pride.

“Nice, isn’t it? A _Zenit-E_ ,” he said. “It has a self-timer.”

“Film is so expensive,” Yuuri said, stammering. 

“I like taking photos of memorable moments,” said Victor. It was true; he had shown Yuuri dozens and dozens of photos he had taken during his travels, everything he had seen and done. Yuuri had always thought there was something intimate about his photos.

And before Yuuri could react, Victor set the timer, and placed the camera on the bench. He ushered Yuuri to a tree. Yuuri smiled weakly as the camera went off, with Victor beside him, his grin bright and eager.

*

Yuuri went back to Japan. By all rights, he should have slunked off from Yugoslavia, in disgrace (no medal!), but - 

He had met Victor. And Victor had told him he would be his coach. And Victor had - as Yuuri had predicted - filled with the news for about a week. Minako constantly talked about it whenever Yuuri visited her.

“You must have met him at least once,” said Minako. She held a clipped article in her hands. There was a picture of Victor. Yuuri had gazed at it in the morning, while eating his breakfast, and had tried to deduce what Victor was thinking. Victor’s gaze was steady. He looked handsome even in a small black and white photo, confident of his future. Victor was always confident.

“Did you have any idea he was going to defect?” she asked.

And Yuuri shrugged, staying quiet. He knew that there would be no harm to telling Minako, but Victor had told him that he trusted him. 

“I wonder what he’s going to do next,” said Minako. “He can’t compete anywhere else until he gets citizenship to another country. It’s so complicated! I hope he won’t retire.”

Yuuri bit his cheek.

*

The photo came in the mail a few weeks later. 

Yuuri looked at the envelope when it came in, seeing an Italian address he didn’t recognize, scribbled in messy handwriting. His eyes widened when he looked over it again and saw Victor’s name.

 _Let’s skate again_ , Victor had scrawled on the back of the photo. The date was on the bottom right of the photo. Just before Christmas, 1970.

Yuuri nodded to himself, and pinned the photo on the wall. He looked over it. Seeing himself almost objectively, he realized he didn’t look as awkward as he had felt that day. He looked deceptively relaxed. Happy. 

I’ll wait for you, Yuuri thought. 

He was filled with a keen desire to skate, to shock Victor before he visited. Yuuri could improve, and he would. Victor had surprised him, and he would return the favour.


End file.
